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Jessie yanked the knife out of the back of the man’s skull.

It had gone in easier than she’d expected, with a satisfying squish. Maybe she’d just plunged it into the exact right spot. She waited for the man to fall to the ground. But Detective Aaron Riddell was a big guy, and it took a moment.

Then his body began to careen backward. She stepped out of the way just in time. He landed with a thud. But when she looked down at his blank face, she was horrified to find that she was staring at Ryan. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. There was only silence.

She could hear someone shouting her name from a great distance away, but it was too late for them to do anything. Her husband was dead. Even as she desperately tried to call out for help, she heard her own name again. This time it sounded closer.

And then, without her knowing how they’d snuck up on her, someone was beside her, shaking her shoulder. She heard herself gasp as her eyes popped open.

It took her a second to process what was going on. She seemed to be lying on her right side in bed, but she couldn’t be sure. Her vision was hazy, and her mind felt dull.

“Jessie,” the voice said urgently once again, “wake up.”

She recognized it as her husband’s.

“Ryan?”

“You were having a nightmare,” he said from behind her in the bed.

“Ryan?” she repeated, trying to wrap her head around his words.

"Babe, you have a call," he said. "Your phone has been ringing for a while, but you didn't clock it. Are you okay?"

“I’m a little woozy,” she said. Her mouth felt like it had marbles in it.

The phone began ringing again.

“Can you get it?” she asked.

“Really?” he said, surprised. “Okay.”

He reached over her shoulder and grabbed it off her nightstand.

“Jessie Hunt’s phone,” he said.

She heard a male voice on the other end of the line. His tone was rough and only spoke briefly. When he was done, Ryan replied.

“This is her husband, Detective Ryan Hernandez.”

The man on the other spoke for a few more seconds.

“Hold on,” Ryan said, before whispering in her ear. “It’s Riddell.”

“What time is it?” she wanted to know.

“About 5:25,” he said. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“I’m still a little foggy,” she told him.

“Do you think this is because of the pill you took last night?”

“I definitely do,” she said.

“Are you able to have a conversation with the guy?” he asked, worried.

“What does he want?”

“He didn’t say, but from his tone and the early hour, I’m guessing there’s been a development in your case.”

“Put the phone to my ear,” she requested. Once he did, she spoke, trying to sound clear-headed. “This is Hunt. What’s up?”

“You took your sweet time,” Riddell said sharply. Hearing his voice, she had a vision of jamming the knife in his skull for real.

“Why are you calling me at 5:25 A.M., Detective,” she demanded, hoping her tone was appropriately authoritative.

Apparently it was, because his answer was straightforward.

“There’s been another murder,” he said. “A body was found on a boat drifting off the coast near El Segundo. But the boat’s slip is registered out of King Harbor. That’s where they’re towing it.”

“All right,” she said, rolling over onto her back. “It’s going to take me a bit to get squared away. I’ll meet you down at the harbor as soon as I can.”

“No need,” he replied tersely. “I’m on my way to pick you up. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Meet me out front.”

It took her another moment to realize that he’d hung up.